


Fresh Scars

by shishooter



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Entirely consensual, F/M, Rough Sex, SHSL Despair - Freeform, Sex Addiction, which is the most fucked up part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5364857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shishooter/pseuds/shishooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Souda is more than happy to indulge Sonia's obsessions, though it means mostly pain for him and gives her little pleasure. SHSL Depair headcanon and very some odd Sonia/Souda characterization.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fresh Scars

**Author's Note:**

> yikes

He sucks in a deep breath, shocked awake. Soft hands move over him, too heavy to be light touches. Desperate touches. The hands are too quick for him, not giving him enough time to wake up and become aroused before the hands are pulling at his clothing.

  
He can hear her breathing, each gasp she pulls in. Souda opens his eyes, half-hard on her command already.

  
“Sleeping so early?” she asks, voice gliding like butter before sharpening and slicing through his still-sleeping mind. “God, Souda, it’s only-”

  
They both look at the clock, the first half of the display cracked so they know that it’s 35 minutes past some hour. It could be 10:35, 4:35, Souda has no idea. He suspects she doesn’t know either, still in her makeup and heels from wherever she was that evening.

  
Slowly, Sonia pulls herself up and off him, kicking her pumps off somewhere in his mess of a room. Souda reaches for the lamp, lampshade long gone but lightbulb still functional, illuminating the grimy room in sharp light, and he regrets turning it on at all.

  
He sits up with a groan, trying to guess where she’s been. She’s dressed up nicely, tight bodycon dress and slightly smudged dark eye makeup. He could tell this in the dark, but the light illuminates the dried blood on her fingers, splashed up on her neck and collarbone.

  
“It’s been a while since you’ve come with me to one of the clubs. They’ve been getting better recently. Despair is everywhere.” Sonia giggles, brushing her hands through her hair to try to get the blood out. “Things got good tonight.”

  
Souda knows all too well what the clubs are like. They were meeting grounds for survivors of the first wave of despair, after the downfall of Hope’s Peak and its subsequent closure. After the mass suicide of the reserve course students and the killing of civilians started. Sonia was the one who started infiltrating the clubs, rotting them from the inside out. The last one he went to was a 12 hour long bloodbath, set to pulsating EDM and packed with sweating bodies.

  
It’s just another breeding ground for despair. A feverish, drugged, youthful kind of despair.

  
Sonia’s in one of her moods, he can tell by the glint in her pale green eyes, the way she’s swaying slightly as if still listening to some pounding music. His heartbeat is connected to it, thumps in his chest to the swing of her hips, the tilt of her shoulders.

  
“I missed you.” she whispers, and he knows it’s a lie. She just misses her drug of choice, her ticket to despair. In a tantalizingly slow motion, she reaches behind her to unzip the dress. It drops to the ground, and she pulls herself back on the bed, back on top of Souda.

  
Her hands pull at Souda’s shirt, slipping it off quickly with months of practice. He wants this, so badly, but for a moment in the bright light he regrets it. The slightly-flickering light exposes his skin, bruised and scabbed. He’s purple, green, fading yellow. Scabs Sonia left only hours ago are easily disturbed, leaving tiny trails of red and brown on otherwise pale skin.

  
She smiles, pulling Souda’s head up roughly, their lips meeting in the start of frenzied passion. His are bruised, start bleeding at the first bite from her.

  
“I need this.” she whispers, breaking their mouths apart, bloody saliva clinging to her perfect lips. “I need you.”

  
He nods, wincing as her fingers push into a bruise behind one ear, rake through unwashed and faded pink hair.

  
“You’re so filthy.” Sonia says, frowning. “So easily broken. So disgusting.”

  
He looks down at his body and agrees, remembering the time he used to sleep in just boxers. He thought he was insecure before but that was nothing, he was happy. He was confident then and how he can’t stand to see his skin, his disgusting body. She makes him look. She gets pleasure from making him look, from seeing him draw back.  
Sonia’s teeth bite into his neck, cutting into skin that’s barely healed.

  
They’ve already done this twice today, but it sends them into sweet, painful despair each time.

  
Neither of them necessarily hate it, if asked they’d both say they love doing this. That has to be what despair is. They need to both want it, but it’s never what they fully want. Despair is hard to describe but they crave it like they’re addicted.

  
Sonia leans up, her saliva drying on his neck and stinging at his open skin. He can’t say how often he thought about having sex with her before this, back when they were young and conditioned into normalcy. Sweet, romantic, vanilla sex. There’s no place for that fantasy here.

  
He reaches up, catching her bra clasp on his first attempt.

  
The first time, he was a virgin and fumbled with it for a solid minute before an angry Sonia showed him how.

  
Souda tosses the black and lacy bra off the bed, landing somewhere with her shoes and dress. She looks like a goddess, dried blood clinging to her bare skin and fresh blood on her lips, straddling his waist. Slowly, Sonia leans over him, blonde hair brushing his injured skin.

  
“Go ahead, touch me. Touch me with your disgusting hands, you pervert.” she smiles, exposing teeth. “Please me or I’ll punish you.”

  
He’s been through a lot at her hands but it doesn’t matter, this is worth it. He brings his hands to her forehead, tracing her cheekbones, her lips. His fingers, turned rough since he stopped wearing gloves for mechanical projects, linger on her neck and she pushes into them. He’ll be nothing but gentle, still honored he gets to touch her at all.

  
Also, terrified of what she’d do otherwise. He bit her fingers once, hard enough to draw a few drops of blood due to the sharp points of his teeth. Following the punishment, he blacked out and woke up in agonizing pain an hour or so later. He has scars on his ass still.

  
He rubs her shoulders, bare back, before tracing her breasts. Carefully he thumbs over her nipples, pink and hard under his touch or from the room’s temperature. Sonia sits back, watching him as he flicks, gently pinches and releases. When she nods slightly, he encircles each breast with one hand, squeezing while continuing to play with her nipples.  
“You’re still not that good at this.” she says, sighing. “After all this time.”

  
That’s false and he knows it, it seems impossible not to have picked up any skill at all from the months of this. He’s logical about this usually, like Sonia is a machine that one has to tweak, pull, tempt into working again. She’s arching her back slightly, hips subtly moving against his stomach.

  
He’s gotten at least somewhat good at it, and her slight shivers confirm this. She shudders as he leans up, taking her skin into his mouth.

  
From disgust, or pleasure?

  
His tongue, rough on her salty skin, traces invisible lines. There’s measured beauty in it, symmetrical shiny divides in her body, but it’s a false beauty. When was the last time he brushed his teeth? Does it matter?

  
Souda takes a nipple in his mouth, and Sonia smiles, hands in his filthy hair. As long as he doesn’t bite, he should be fine. She lets him spend a few minutes on this, slowly dragging his tongue over her skin, flicking it frequently. Her shallow breaths feel like reward enough for the task, His free hand cups her other breast, twisting her like a radio dial.

  
Eventually, he moves up to kiss her, hands to her back.

  
Souda moves lower, tracing her ribcage, her spine. This is for him more than for her, feeling the skeleton beneath, considering the muscles and ligaments that allow her to move. He traces lightly over her ribcage, beautifully aligned. He moves over her spine, her collarbones. Her perfect neck, that he longs to wrap his hands around until she stops moving.  
Is it normal for lovers to think like this? She’s strangled him before- far too violent for “breathplay.”

  
He holds her hips, smooth skin over protective fat, muscle, bone. He longs to tear her apart, peel away that perfect skin. He wants to diagram her insides, make them perfect. Fix everything inside. He wants to preserve her forever. He wants to study how every little part of her moves.

  
She indulges him in these thoughts for a moment, surprisingly the most intimate moment they’ll get.

  
Sonia pushes his hands away and all Souda can do is wait for whatever she’ll do next.

  
“You know I hate this. I hate feeling your body, your skin touch mine. I hate you, Souda Kazuichi.” Sonia says, rising slightly to pull off her dark lacy underwear and grab something from the floor. “I hate you so much.”

  
It’s fine, he thinks. They have that in common.

  
“It makes me feel disgusting to have your saliva on my skin.” she spits on him, warm on his chest. “I don’t want your rotting body anywhere near me.”

  
She pushes his arms over his head, velcroing them to the bed frame. “Don’t touch me.”

  
He stays still, of course, unable to move his arms much now. Sonia yanks off his boxers easily, tossing them across the room.

  
There was a day when he was sensitive about what he looked like naked. There was a time when he cared. But at this point, he’s been stripped and beaten in front of dozens of people, fucked senseless in front of them. At this point, it doesn’t matter if his dick is 3 inches or 7, it’s aching and the only part of him that’s not up for sex right now. It doesn’t matter how long or thick it is, because it’s going to end up hurting inside her anyways.

  
Sonia leans over the bed, naked ass teasing him for a moment, before she returns with one of their many dildos. It’s glass, a dark green, rounded nubs at the top sharpening to spikes at the bottom. She doesn’t hesitate before sticking it into his mouth, and quickly he sucks it.

  
She only ever gives him a few seconds to lubricate it.

  
Souda’s fingers grab at the dirty mattress, smelling of sweat and faint piss, but mostly of blood and sex. He’s numb to the smell but not to the initial pain of Sonia inserting the dildo. She’s never going to prepare him with her fingers, that’s something she hates, but he’s been fucked every day for months now and it hardly matters. It’s painful, but not impossible to fit.

  
It even starts to feel good, as she strokes his side with one hand, gently easing the dildo in further and out slightly, a slow pumping motion. His ass hurts so bad, but it ceases to matter when she starts angling the dildo and starts teasing his prostate.

  
He shudders, noticing that he’s finally hard.

  
Sonia spits on him again, and again, his old blood mixing with her cooling saliva. He’s sweat and blood and human filth, being undone by a princess. A queen. She looks like an angel, straddling his hips, nude except for someone else’s blood.

  
She digs the dildo in, deep inside him. It’s going to hurt like hell to pull out, but he doesn’t care anymore.

  
Her blonde hair lightly rests against his skin as she moves to take his dick in. It slips in somewhat easily, and he wonders how many other people she’s fucked tonight. Maybe none. Who can tell?

  
Sonia’s not gentle, raking her fingernails over his thighs and ass, pounding him into the bed again and again. Her hips grind into him, he’s too tired to do much with her. Each pull up is agony. Each time she slams down is ecstasy. She’s manic, riding him like the world depends on it, faster and faster.

  
“You’re so useless.” she says, gasping. “You’re terrible.”

  
He doesn’t care, he’s inside Sonia Nevermind. He’s inside a princess.

  
“Cum inside me, you filthy idiot. Like the garbage you are. Ruled by your disgusting body and its primal pleasures. go ahead.”

  
He’s not ready.

  
“You’re not even half as good as him. Gundam can actually make me feel good, Souda. He’s so much better than you. Everyone is. Fuck, even Saoinji could do better.”  
He stiffens slightly, reacting to her words.

  
“You hear that?” her voice drops to a whisper, in his ear, hot wet breath on his face. “Gundam is bigger than you. He reaches so deep inside of me, deeper than you’ll ever be. He makes me feel so good, Souda. Not like you.”

  
She continues riding him violently, slamming her hips back down into him so far he thinks it might erode his bones. “Your body is rotting. Your body is disgusting. You’re garbage, dog food, compost.”

  
It’s painful and blissful in equal parts, like he’s breaking apart and dissolving into pleasure.

  
“Cum in me, dead boy. Cum in my beautiful body. Give me your filthy pleasure, rotting boy.”

  
She digs her fingernails into his chest, new dots of red blood appearing by brown and yellow, by the colorful bruises. Sonia lets out a sigh, her pace continuing.

  
He cums, mostly dry and wracking his body with spasms that hurt more than feel good. He cums inside of her, and her pace doesn’t slow at all. He doesn’t feel much pleasure from it, not after he orgasms. It shuts off, he feels numb. He feels too aware of his body, the pain returning to his exhausted frame.

  
She doesn’t stop.

  
Not when he gets soft again, not when everything starts hurting, only when she lifts too far and his dick slips out of her, painful and raw.

  
Sonia digs her fingers into the bruises coloring his chest, pulling herself off. She doesn’t bother to pull the dildo out and neither does he, lying exhausted beside her.

  
“Disappointing.” she says, though they know that’s part of it. It’d be in Sonia’s favor if she got to climax, it wouldn’t be as despair-inducing. She holds the power but ultimately it doesn’t benefit her much. He takes the pain but at least gets something out of it. This is despair. An equal exchange of misfortune, of unfairness.

  
He doesn’t question the fact that they stopped using condoms. It probably doesn’t matter anymore. STDs don’t matter to them now. Neither does pregnancy, assuming Sonia still can get pregnant, which he doubts.

  
Sonia lies beside him on his grimy mattress, not bothering to ease the dildo out of Souda’s ass. It’s now sending shooting pains into him when he moves, but his arms are locked above his head until she helps him loose. When he shakes his arms she reluctantly undoes the thick velcro straps, revealing the red skin below, the scars that have formed there.  
“See you in a few hours.” she says, gathering her clothes without putting them on.

  
He would reply, but he can’t. This was his first punishment. The first condition of their arrangement. He can't speak and likely never will again.

  
Fingers resting on the months old scar on his throat, he opens his mouth, but she’s already gone. Just like his voice, his life, his identity. Souda Kazuichi is happy to be Sonia’s mute punching bag, her sexual outlet. It’s worth it.


End file.
